


Stalking The Enemy

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-25
Updated: 2006-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Our explorers are headed to investigate one of the planets that was attacked years earlier, not realizing that a trap awaits. (05/04/2003)





	1. While You Were Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Or maybe the title should be "The Enemy Is Stalking You"? Special thanks to three from the Enterprise Write Brigade who helped with a much needed lesson in POVâ€”Taryn, DINY and Mara. There was a moment as I was shuffling through the three beta emails when I pictured all of you like three benevolent witches of Endor hovering over my PC trying to help me get this brew straight. Thanks!  
  
Special thanks to my beta readers Susan and Rhonda.  


* * *

Malcolm had an itch between his shoulder blades for the last two days. Adventurer, the captain might be. Curious about other races and worlds would be an understatement. Extending the hand of friendship was all well and good. But frankly I can do without aliens walking all over the bloody ship. I'm not head of security. I'm a blasted cruise ship director who is only occasionally able to deflect the VIPs from visiting the ship's more sensitive areas.

In fact, he was on his way to diplomatically expel a couple of overly inquisitive Aviarians from the Armory. His Armory. The crew made way as Lt. Reed plowed his way through the corridors. No one wanted to accidentally deflect the lieutenant's sour mood back in his or her direction.

If Malcolm could find a way, somehow he'd lay the blame at Commander Tucker's doorstep. The Aviarians were treating them all like ruddy heroes. Someone on the planet had gotten a hold of the story that a human had befriended a young orphaned Aviarian. Then the child had started talking about his friend Trip.

When it leaked that said human had been seriously wounded in the 'battle' to defend their planet, there was a media feeding frenzy. Aviarians wanted to send their best doctors and Malcolm Reed's most orderly life was turned topsy-turvy.

If truth be told, Malcolm did understand the fuss. Over 200,000 Aviarians had died in the week and a half that it took to get aid to their planet. Grief and discouragement had been their bread and butter for so long that grasping for a happy ending was an almost world wide imperative.

And they would get it if the blasted yank would get over the sleeping beauty routine and just wake up.

* * *

Rook had arrived on the human starship almost one full cycle ago. He even spent the night on the ship in Commander Tucker's quarters. The captain, at first, had seemed very big and serious the first day as he showed Rook and the ambassadors from his planet around the ship. T'Pol had been with them and Rook had asked her why the Captain frowned so much. He did not seem like Trip at all.

T'Pol had told him that the Captain and Trip were good friends that the Captain would be happy when his friend woke up. Rook simply said, "Me, too. Could I see him T'Pol, even if he is sleeping?"

Dr. Phlox had assured T'Pol that morning that Commander Tucker's condition had stabilized. Yet when she had last visited, Mr. Tucker had still looked the worse for his experiences. T'Pol looked at the boy. And concluded that Rook had dealt with far worse.

"I will forward your request to the doctor and captain. If they agree, I will take you to see Mr. Tucker." True to her word, T'Pol did get permission. She was not surprised to find the captain seated at his friend's bedside when they arrived at sickbay. Preoccupied with his thoughts, Archer did not hear the pair come to his side.

Rook thought the captain was looked sad. He placed a hand on the captain's arm and bent over and whispered, "Trip is gonna be fine. T'Pol said so. And Trip told me that she doesn't lie." His voice dropped even lower as he drew closer to Archer's ear. "It's a Vulcan thing. 'Ya know?" Archer laughed. He could have sworn that that the kid did a drop-dead impersonation of his friend.

Archer looked over the boy's head and gave T'Pol a big apple-pie-eating grin. "Why, I think that I have heard that said before."

The Denobulan doctor approached the trio. "Captain, I'm going to keep the commander under sedation until tomorrow. When you visit tomorrow he may even be up for a small piece of pecan pie."

"Alright then. Let's all head to the mess and get some dinner. What's this, young man, that I hear about Trip wanting to award you with a field commission as a Starfleet Cadet?"

"He said I could get a medal, too." Archer could see how Trip could be so taken with this little fellow. Rook's almost coal black eyes shined with excitement. The captain placed a hand on the small thin shoulder.

Archer scratched his chin pensively. "Upon reviewing your courageous actions, I can only think that you deserve the highest honor awarded to cadets on the Enterpriseâ€”the Order of Porthos for Meritorious Service."

Rooks eyes widened appreciatively. "Really?"

T'Pol looked the captain directly in the eye and took a deep breath as she added, "This is indeed an honor Rook. No cadet on Enterprise has ever received this award before." Archer noted that she did not add that Starfleet did not have an "Order of Porthos" medal or any cadets serving on Enterprise. But strictly speaking, she did not lie. Stretching the truth, he thought. That's a human 'thing' he thought. He could not wait to point that out to T'Pol at the first opportunity.

Rook looked at the Captain for a moment with a care worn expression that belied his obvious age. "Could we wait for the Commander.to get better, I mean." Rook blinked a couple times and then seemed to contemplate the Captain's boots. "I would like Trip to be there when I get my medal."

"I don't think that wild horses could keep him away."

"Wild hoses?"

"Horses. Big earth animals. It's an expression. Uh, let's get some dinner and I'll explain."

After dinner, the Captain introduced Rook to a small quadruped named Porthos that he called a 'dog.' He must be a very important member of the crew, Rook thought, to be named after the medal the Captain and T'Pol told him about. Like the humans, the dog had the fine strange feathers, but all over his body. And big, soft floppy ears that Rook liked stroking. Captain Archer said that Porthos and Rook could have a sleepover in Trip's quarters if they both behaved themselves. Secretly, the Captain passed a small package of a yellow substance to Rook and whispered that this was a treat for Porthos, but that it was Top Secret.

Rook just did not understand why the Captain said that he could not tell the doctor.

* * *

Trip woke up by degrees. Mentally, he took an inventory of the assorted aches and pains and figured that his luck had finally turned the corner. He'd put in more than his fair share of time in the sickbay and he recognized the sounds and smells even before he opened his eyes. He recognized all the sounds but oneâ€”a soft even breathing coming from somewhere to the right side of Trip's biobed.

Dr. Phlox noted that Mr. Tucker's metabolic rates had increased, signaling his imminent arrival to consciousness. The chief engineer's serious injuries had stressed the abilities of sickbay's osmotic eel population, but now both eels and Mr. Tucker were doing much better. The doctor glanced at the chair next to the Commander's bed. T'Pol had been a silent sentry, guarding his bedside every hour that she was off duty. Occasionally she meditated or, as now, was sleeping next to the commander's bed. The doctor requested sickbay lights dimmed fifty percent.

Even with the dimmed light, Tuckers eyes seemed sensitive. Through a fuzzy focus he could make out T'Pol asleep next to him. Gingerly, he turned to the doctor on his other side.

The normally booming Denobulan's voice was reduced to a whisper in response to Trip's unanswered question.

"Yes commander, she has only left your side to go about ship's business. She seems to be the president of an ever growing fan club that you have here on the Enterprise."

Their attention was diverted when T'Pol rose from the chair with cat-like grace. "Currently the president of the fan club is residing in Mr. Tucker's quarter's with the Captain's dog." After a look of confusion from Trip, T'Pol added, "Rook came on board after he found out that you were injured in Engineering. He was accompanied by most of the Aviarian high council, the chief engineer of the Vulcan Science vessel San'Jeen and several of the engineering staff of the Vulcan Combat Cruiser Shiran."

"Whoa, wait just one minute." Trip attempted to sit up and decided against that plan when he felt a painful pull from his side. "What are they all doing on Enterprise?"

"They are not just on Enterprise, commander. They are currently in engineering working with our team to effect repairs." From the sour look on the Commander's face, T'Pol surmised that human's have yet to overcome some of their inherent territorial instincts. She also successfully believed that she had diverted Mr. Tucker's attention from her presence in sickbay.

She was so very wrongâ€”an unusual miscalculation for a Vulcan. Of course she was treading in the treacherous waters of human emotion.


	2. The Sickbay Blues

T'Pol, with hands clasped behind her back, made to turn away as if some invisible superior had barked 'dismissed.'

"Don't make me go and take off after you, T'Pol." T'Pol hesitated in mid- stride. The sickbay door never had looked so unattainable.

To her discerning review, the commander had not even gotten out the driveway on his trip down the road to recovery. Where did that come from, she thought? One of the hazards of a mind meld with this human? T'Pol speculated as to what other surprises were in store for both of them. She calculated the amount of time she would have to meditate to insure that no quaint human epigrams accidentally found their way into her daily speech. I may have to request additional time off from the captain, she concluded. She did not make eye contact with the Commander, but rejoined, "Given your present circumstances, I doubt that you would be successful."

"Are you so sure?" Trip was sure, but as T'Pol turned back, he reckoned that she was not willing to call his bluff. He didn't realize that he had strained forward when he thought that she was going to leave. For a moment he relaxed back and closed his eyes.

"You stayed with me."

It was a simple statement. T'Pol knew that he referred to more than just the rescue or her attendance on him in sickbay. She was not yet ready to acknowledge all of the statement's implications. "I completed my duty shifts when required."

Trip looked up at her and smiled. "Would those duty shifts you're talking about be the ones here or on the bridge?" As he attempted to sit up, Trip flounced the sheet out of his way. She recognized the utilitarian sickbay gown he wore. His left leg was immobilized in a lightweight frame that supported the mending break.

"Are you purposely being obtuse, Commander, or are you trying to provoke me?"

"Would it do me any good?" Suddenly Trip felt like he was a salmon fighting his was upstream. He was tired and just a little dizzy from his first effort to get vertical in two days.

Dr. Phlox simply shook his head. Being a doctor, he recognized the complexities of a mating ritual when he saw it. Why were so many species loath to admit an attraction? Hmmm, he thought to himself. There were quite a few examples of species that kill their partners after mating. He looked back at the human and Vulcanâ€”and smiled to himself. At least they were already in sickbay, if it came to that.

The Denobulan cleared his throat rather loudly, finally gaining the attention of the sparing couple. "I think that we should notify the captain that Mr. Tucker has decided to rejoin the crew."

"Sickbay to the bridge."

"Archer to sickbay. Do we have an update, doctor?"

"Why don't you come and see for yourself. But you may want to make it fast, Captain. Mr. Tucker needs his rest."

"I'll be down, straight away doctor." There was a gratified murmur and smiles shared with everyone on the bridge. Malcolm looked at the Captain expectantly.

Archer did not disappoint him. "Malcolm, why don't you join me? I may need your assistance to forcibly restrain the Commander. When he finds out what is going on in Engineering without his supervision..."

Malcolm truly grinned for the first time in days. Archer knew these men had grown close over the past few months. Trip seemed to have gotten the Lieutenant to loosen up a bit. Trip's tendency for stream of conscious ramblings and laconic wit was a good compliment to the more grounded Mr. Reed.

When Archer and Reed arrived in sickbay, they barely got to the door before they heard an argument occurring inside. Ensign Kelly passed the captain and armory officer as they entered. Archer thought that he heard her say, "I'm so sorry Captain" and reflected that her flight from sickbay resembled a hasty retreat.

Archer whispered through gritted teeth to Malcolm. "I thought the doctor said that Trip needed to rest?"

Malcolm shrugged, replying, "I seems that word of the progress in engineering proceeded us."

"I jus' need ta' see what's going on in Engineering. There's Aviari-ans, Vulc-ans and who knows what other 'Ans all over my engines..."

Archer approached. "Those others would be Hum-ans, Tripâ€”your team. They're working three shifts 'round the clock to get engineering in orderâ€”mostly for you, I might add. We're lucky to have the help from the planet and the Vulcan's. Damage like this would have required us to go back to space dock at the very least. As it is, the work will probably be done in a few more days." Archer gave the commander a measuring look. Trip was pale and definitely pained by more than his frustration with the current situation.

T'Pol watched the doctor as he attempted to restrain Trip from sitting up in the bed. Annoying, exasperating human, she contemplated. Her fingers flexed as she contemplated using a Vulcan neck pinch on the recalcitrant engineer.

"Good to see you back to your sunny and stubborn self, Commander." Malcolm couldn't blame the engineer. He well understood where the Commander was coming from.

Archer added, "Trip, your station is here for..." He glanced at the doctor.

"At least for two more days, to be followed up with rest in his quarters for at least another three," finished the doctor. The Denobulan gave up trying to restrain the commander, who was still mulishly trying to get off the biobed. He moved over to one of the cabinets and started to prep a hypospray. As he turned, he noted that the Captain silently put up a hand, postponing the injection.

"If you are going to proceed with this mule-headed plan, you're going to have to get to engineering under your own power."

"That's just fine with me," Trip added as he swung his legs slowly over the edge of the bed. Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Trip thought. Bending over to sit up hurt like a sonofabitch.

Archer could see the engineer gasping as he tried to master his uncooperative body. He broke into a sweat as he placed his bare feet flat on the floor. For the first time, Archer saw the brace supporting Trip's leg. He winced, but he knew his friend all too well. Hard lessons were almost always more effective than lectures. He just wished that Trip would spare himself a few once in a while.

T'Pol took a step forward, but the captain extended his arm blocking her from assisting.

For a moment, Archer thought that Trip might just make it out of sheer pigheadedness. He took one step toward the captain. Suddenly Archer noticed Trip's eyes roll back as he started to pitch to one side. Jon acted swiftly, grasping the engineer under both arms. T'Pol took the Commander's feet and together they swung him back unto the biobed.

They thought he was out until he said, "Alright. Point made."

"Glad you finally agree," added the Captain. The doctor approached and leaned over to inject Tucker's neck with the contents of a hypospray.

Trip's eyes opened and he slurred, "What was that?"

"Just something to take the edge off the pain and help you sleep," responded Dr. Phlox.

"Mmmm. Working." Soon, the commander's breathing evened.

Malcolm asked the doctor the question that was all foremost in their minds. "Is there any chance that you could keep giving him that," Malcolm pointed to the hypospray, "for a bit longer?" The Captain tried to hide a smile by turning rapt attention to contemplating the tops of his shoes.

"If you can keep Mr. Tucker's engineering team out of sick bay for the next two days, I think we might be able to accommodate that request."

"I heard that," mumbled Trip as sleep finally caught up with him.


	3. Dress Uniforms

"You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club."â€”Jack London (1896-1916)

"The females of all species are most dangerous when they appear to retreat."â€”Donald Robert Perry Marquis (1878-1937)

T'Pol avoided sickbay for the next couple of days. She had had enough revelations to keep her meditating for many days to come. Close proximity to the commander resulted in an odd tickling sensation in the recesses of her mind. She had reread the literature about the mind meld and could find no reference to a connection lasting beyond the meld. Connections such as that existed only for bonded Vulcan mates.

She grimly considered as she entered the welcoming solitude of her cabin, the documentation did not even contemplate the possibility of a Vulcan/Human mind meld. As Trip would say, she definitely has gone where no one has gone before.

Trip was going nowhere, fast. The Captain had 'assigned' him to quarters for the duration of the week. If he was honest with himself, he was still sore and not yet fit for duty. But true to his contrary nature, it was all right for him to admit it to himself. It was another thing to have someone tell him he was less than 100 percent. But at least his enforced rest had not been boring.

Rook had been thrilled when the doctor had finally relented and let him see the Commander. On his third day in sickbay, Trip woke to very loud shushing noises as Porthos was yelping as he went through his entire roster of canine tricks. Rook sat cross-legged on the floor, but was not distracted from his primary mission. The moment that he heard Trip stir, he bounced straight for his hero's bedside.

"Hey Trip. You've been sleeping an awful long time. You feeling better?"

"Yeah kid, I'm feeling better. Looks like you've had your run of the ship." Trip realized a moment later that he had opened the proverbial dam. He got an entire run down on Rooks tour of the ship, Porthos's unfortunate reaction to eating too much of a yellow substance called cheeseâ€”uh, there's a spot on the floor in your quarters, Tripâ€”and that the Captain was going to make him a cadet and give him a medalâ€”called the Order of Porthos.

The doctor wandered over. "It's a good thing you decided to wake up Commander. All of the festivities have been on hold until you could attend. I'd like to run a few tests and then I think that sometime today you can be released you from sickbay."

The Doctor had not been kiddin' about festivities, Trip reflected. No sooner had Trip been released, than he was informed by the Captain that they would be attending a reception in the mess hall tonight. The Aviarians had wanted to honor the Enterprise crew on the planet. The Doctor's protests that the Commander was not yet up to a planet-side event and the ongoing repair work had changed the venue to the mess hall. The Aviarians would not hear of the Commander not attending.

Dress uniforms were the order of the day and Trip was struggling to get his on when a chime announced a visitor at his door.

"Malcolm, I've never been happier ta see ya. Could you give me a hand here?"

"I thought that you might need some tactical assistance." Malcolm stretched to his full height and looked down his nose at the commander. In very clipped, precise english, Reed added, "Malcolm Reed, personal valet, at your serviceâ€”Sir." The effect was spoiled somewhat by the wide grin that he favored the frustrated Commander with.

In his blue skivvies, Trip was trying to throw the waist band of his pants like a lariat to snag his foot since he couldn't quite bend down far enough. Malcolm was not sure how the commander thought that he was going to get his trousers on over the brace. It wasn't going to happen. The hinged brace was strapped around his shin and extended to just above mid thigh protecting the break in his femur that had occurred just above his knee.

"Commander, I would think that an engineer of your accomplishments would know better than to try and fit the proverbial square peg in the round hole." Malcolm knelt in front of the commander and gently undid the brace and put it aside. The skin was still discolored and slightly swollen around the break.

"I don't recall that a gentleman's gentleman would give his employer any lip, Lieutenant. Maybe you should rethink this career. I don't think it suits ya."

"Just as long as I can 'suit ya' as you so colorfully put it. Dreadful pun, by the way, Commander. After tonight, I think that I can retire from this line of work with a sense of accomplishment."

Trip leaned on Malcolm's shoulder as the Lieutenant helped the commander with his pants. Trip put on a shirt and shrugged into his dress jacket. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed as Reed helped him reattach the brace over his trouser leg. Once the operation was completed, a bit of the Commander's irrepressible humor surfaced. As he stood up glanced in the mirror. "Damn brace. Completely ruins the line of the uniform. Won't have the same impact on the ladies."

"Don't worry about the brace commander. What with your dubious charm, newly acquired hero status and limpâ€”women love this wounded hero businessâ€”you will be the belle of the ball."

"Finally," Trip said with satisfaction, "something to look forward to."

As the two friends made their way to the mess hall, Trip thought that the ship never seemed bigger. Maybe he had been a little cocky to decline the use of an antigrav sled. He was leaning pretty heavily on Malcolm by the time that they reached the doors of the mess.

But when Trip got an eyeful of what was waiting for him when the doors slid open, he straightened up and practically pushed Malcolm out of this way.

Malcolm was just as impressed as a soft whistle escaped his lips. He thought that the uniform that T'Pol wore daily was quite flattering. What she was wearing tonight would pop the pennies off the eyes of dead Irishmen. Malcolm looked back at the Commander to check on the effect of T'Pol's 'dress' uniform.

Mr. Tucker looked like a hound that had treed a fox and didn't know what to do next. Trip's jaw dropped open and then snapped shut. Somehow he achieved forward momentum again only to be cut off from his desired destination as crew and visitors surrounded him.


	4. Shall We Dance?

Trip could see lips moving but could hear no sound. Most of his gray matter that would normally be dedicated to other functions was rerouted to try and enable him to get another glimpse of T'Pol.

The sea green dress that she was wearing showed a considerable amount of Vulcan shoulder. It was of very simple design, hugging T'Pol's curves as it then flared at her hips to drape simply and elegantly to the floor. Lacking jewelry, a diaphanous material of striking hues of green and gold cinched at her throat with a simple gold brooch. The material flowed behind her in a way that reminded Trip of shimmering dragonsfly wings.

Stunned, Trip was sure that there was probably some Vulcan law prohibiting anyone of her race from looking that, wellâ€”Wow. If an outfit like that did not evoke some good old earthy emotions from the average Vulcan male, Trip mused that probably nothing else would.

Malcolm noted that his friend had taken a trip to somewhere that was light years away from the mess hall. Or maybe just across the room to where T'Pol was speaking with the Vulcan officers of the Shiran. Reed took charge of the situation, gently maneuvering Trip to a table. He was pretty sure that Trip did not hear him making apologies, explaining that the Commander was still a little off, the medications you know. Fortunately, once the other attendees blocked Trip's view of T'Pol, he seemed to snap out of his trance.

As they approached, Malcolm noticed that Hoshi was perched on the edge of the seat closest to the Captain. She looked up and saw them approaching the table. She stood to make the seat on the Captain's right available to the Commander. Trip gratefully accepted the offer and sat down.

Malcolm felt a little like a balloon with a slow, agonizing air leak. Hopefully, Reed thought, he wasn't squeaking like said balloon. Suddenly the room had gotten quite close. Malcolm swallowed slowly and tugged on his collar. Damned dress uniforms, Reed thought. They never give a man enough air when he needs it. Hoshi was breathtaking in an exotic gown similar to the one he had seen on the Sub Commander. Her dress was in a deep royal purple, with a transparent over tunic shot through with silver and countless shades of purple and blue. The colors of the dress accented Hoshi's creamy, flawless complexion. She wore her hair up with delicate enamel combs that reminded Malcolm of graceful watercolor portraits of ancient Asian noblewomen.

Hoshi's self-consciousness got the better of her as she noted the lieutenant's unwavering stare. Looking down, she nervously smoothed out an invisible wrinkle in the bodice of the gown. "Our dresses were gifts from the Aviarians for our assistance on the planet. T'Pol didn't seem keen on wearing hers, but the Vulcan ambassador said that refusal might be considered a breach of etiquette."

Seeming to finally come out of his fog, Tucker replied. "God bless Vulcan Ambassadors everywhere for that gem of diplomatic wisdom." Trip looked around as if he finally had become aware of his sumptuous surroundings. "Whew, these folks really know how to put on a party."

The Aviarians had catered the entire event and spent the entire day decorating. Utilitarian mess hall walls were decorated with yards of the same iridescent fabrics that Hoshi and T'Pol were wearing. The tables were draped with similar material. Each table had a stunning centerpiece made of a metal so shiny that it looked like fluid quicksilver. The metal itself gave off a soft glow that illuminated the table. Throwing caution to the wind, Trip reached out and touched the luminous metal, finding it neither wet nor warm.

Dinner comprised several courses and thankfully the awards presentation was brief. Rook's little chest had puffed out so far it had strained his buttons. Trip clapped the loudest and winked when the youngster beamed at him, fingering the medal pinned to his chest. The captain and bridge crew stood together as they accepted awards from the leader of the Aviarian World Council for their service on behalf of their home world. The captain surprised Trip and the rest of the crew alike when his dismissed the rest and asked the commander to remain.

"Standing in for the Secretary General of Star Fleet, it is with great honor that I present to you, Commander Charles Tucker of the Starship Enterprise, designation NX-01, Starfleet's Distinguished Service Medal for your act of bravery in the face of enemy fire and in being instrumental in preserving this ship and it's mission." Captain Archer placed the ribbon and medal around Trip's neck, shook his hand and motioned his officer to face the gathering. Trip turned to face the audience and the room burst into an uproar of applause. Normally not shy, the commander gratefully took his seat at the Captain's table as the socializing and festivities resumed.

Malcolm finally noticed that the music playing softly in the background was an entertaining mix of earth music from the past three centuries. A Chopin waltz was playing softly in the background. As if reading Malcolm's mind, Hoshi commented, "The Aviarian's are very keen on all forms of music. The captain said that they requested a selection of music that humans would appreciate for such a gathering, so I collected selections from our database." Her eyes fell on the as yet was unused dance floor. Malcolm knew a cue of cosmic proportions when he heard it.

"Hoshi, in the interest of diplomacy and interspecies communications, would you aid me in demonstrating a waltz or two for our hosts?" At the smile on Hoshi's face, Malcolm presented her his arm and the two walked off toward the dance floor as the opening strains of Waltz in A flat Major from Opus 34 resonated across the dance floor. As Hoshi placed one hand on the armory officer's shoulder and the other hand in his warm grasp, Malcolm only had two coherent thoughts. The first was a blessing to a Miss Tuttlewhite for the tedious dance lessons in the front parlor so many years ago. The second was a silent thanks to the universe that the tune playing was one of Chopin's longer waltzes. He'd enjoy every second.

Watching the couple gracefully glide around the dance floor, Trip looked at T'Pol and then contemplated the brace on his left leg. He'd give anything to be able to take T'Pol out on the dance floor if it gave him the excuse to hold her in his arms again.

Trip was startled to see T'Pol make eye contact with him for the first time this evening, canting her head questioningly as if he had spoken his last thought out loud.


	5. Wallflowers

It was obvious from the festivities, that the Aviarians enjoyed a good party. They seemed to delight in the alien music from the human homeworld, Earth. Several Aviarians had asked crew members to show them the dance steps that accompanied the music from various eras of human history.

Archer seemed to think that their guests had a particular affinity to the bright, catchy tunes from the big band era. They had flocked to the dance floor, and though well past midnight, did not seem to want to end the party any time soon.

The Vulcan's were another story entirely. Now that most of the conversations taking place were between couples on the dance floor, most of the Vulcans had departed. To them, the dinner had been obligatory, especially while diplomatic relations could be furthered. Given Vulcan reasoning, dancing was probably not conducive to either gathering information or diplomacy. Lacking the experience, Vulcan's underestimated how much you can learn from your partner during an intimate conversation while dancing.

Archer contemplated his two senior officers. They sat across the table looking at each other, busy trying to avoid making eye contact. In Jon's mind he pictured Trip and T'Pol on opposite sides of a junior high gymâ€”like a couple of wallflowers at a Sadie Hawkins eighth grade dance. He knew that any developments between the two would most likely cause him a headache of galactic proportions. Archer's face broke into a wide grin. He never was one for playing it safe. At least there would be headaches enough to share in both the hallowed halls of Starfleet and the Vulcan High Council. It was their idea to put a Vulcan on a human ship, right?

The distance across the table might as well be just as wide. Jon noted that the wife of one of the diplomats was sitting looking rather longingly at the dance floor while her inattentive husband was chatting with others on the far side of the room. A plan started to formulate in the captain's mind. Maybe with a little space, his two officers would come to an understanding of sorts.

Archer put his plan into action by standing up and striding to the far end of the table. Jon smiled at the shocked looks from both officers. It was a look he'd expect from a couple of kids being told by the chaperon that he was ditching them and handing them a bottle of booze to spike the punch. He held out his arm to the abandoned wife, who graciously accepted the offer. He proceeded onto the dance floor without a backward glance.

It was no surprise that Trip was the one that finally broke the silence. "Thought that you might head in for the night when your Vulcan pals decided to ditch the party." Oh hell, Trip inwardly grimaced. How did he always seem to manage to end a conversation before he had even started it with T'Pol?

She looked him directly in the eye with that unnerving, unblinking gaze of hers. "Captain Archer is my superior officer and the Enterprise is my ship. As such, it would be inappropriate as a senior officer to leave a ship's function prior to the captain taking his leave." Tucker could feel his frustration rising as it did every time that T'Pol spouted off with something in that maddeningly reasonable tone of hers. And it was a twist of the knife that it always seemed in retrospect that she simply was stating the obvious. What did he expect her to say? I can't leave as long as you are here? I've missed you so? Would you like to dance?

"Would you like to dance?" Trip himself heard the words and was so taken aback that his mouth shut with an audible snap. He'd really put his foot in it now.

T'Pol had avoided this moment all week, by avoiding the commander. To this point, it had been a successful. Though, she now realized, it was a somewhat deluded plan on her part. Unless she left Enterprise immediately, she assumed that her concerns about her relationship with Commander Tucker would be confirmed. The signs of her continuing 'link' with the commander did not abate. She had been disturbed several times during the week by odd thoughts. She had startled that captain at dinner by adding sugar to her iced tea. And twice during the week she had used a contraction in discussions with the crew. Though she was sure that the crew did not note it, her lapse in proper grammar startled T'Pol.

And, at a distance she could sense hisâ€”what would humans call itâ€”mood? Feelings? Nothing so specific as exact thoughts. Though she did not know the cause, she sensed the commander's frustration prior to the party and acted on it, suggesting to Reed that Mr. Tucker might need assistance. The generic suggestion had been adopted with seemingly no suspicions on the armory officer's part. Within a quarter of an hour, she felt the chief engineer's mood lighten. Fifteen more minutes and he was standing in the doorway of the mess, thinking that she looked beautiful.

And she had been pleased, as well as discomfited by her pleasure, which was supremely illogical.

She was concerned, too, that in close proximity, T'Pol was able to read some of his more emphatic thoughts. So, she had avoided contact for most of the evening. She barely had the needed time to contemplate the events of a week ago. And the possibility that they had initiated a bonding, that at least for Vulcan's, was irreversible. Her people so zealously guarded the rituals of their mating practices, that she was sure that the commander had no idea of the implications, both interpersonal and interplanetary, for either of them. Well at least in a few moments she would not be alone in her concerns. Trip would be aware as well. Once she took this step, she was doubtful that there would be many options.

Well heck, thought Trip, if she didn't want to dance with me, she could at least simply say no and stop starin' a hole in me. Oddly, at that moment, T'Pol closed her eyes.

Yes, I would be...pleased to dance with you.

Really? Slightly flabbergasted at the affirmative, Trip did not immediately grasp, as he responded to T'Pol's replyâ€”that she had agreed to dance with himâ€”without moving her lips.

They both started to stand and T'Pol moved around the table to pause directly in front of the commander.

I'm not normally a bad dancer, but with this leg...Wait a cotton-pickin' second. I heard ya', but your lips aren't moving. How are you doing that?

T'Pol thought her answer right back to her partner. The same way you are, commander. Now, we should proceed to the dance floor or we will draw unwanted attention.

Still befuddled, the commander held out his hand and T'Pol firmly grasped it. He was not sure who was leading whom onto the dance floor.

On the other side of the room, Malcolm and Hoshi were observing the other couple's progress as they entered the dance floor. Whispering, they put their heads together.

"That leg of his is still stiff, Lieutenant. Do you think that we could make a request to play something a little slower for them?"

Reed felt Hoshi's breath on his neck as she questioned him. It was doing wild and wonderful things to his heartbeat.

"Malcolm, you call me Malcolmâ€”especially when you're out of uniform." He looked at her appreciatively and added with a theatrical flair, "And you are most definitely out of uniform." Hoshi blushed but covered it up by gently chucking him in the arm.

"Malcolm, ask the ensign playing DJ to pick something slowâ€”and romantic."

"Indeed. Your wish is my command." He grinned expectantly.

"For them, you goof." Ok, for us too, Hoshi smiled to herself. She'd have to ask the Aviarians about acquiring more of this fabric. It would make quite a stunning negligee. As Malcolm returned, he caught Hoshi deep in thought. He just hoped that whatever she was cooking up involved him.

The music stopped and then resumed just as Trip and T'Pol arrived on the dance floor. As the strains of muted brass instruments floated around them, Trip sent up an unspoken thanks to whoever chose this particular tune. With his leg stiff and still in a brace, 'Moonlight Serenade' by the Glenn Miller Orchestra was just perfect. He looked around briefly before wrapping one arm around T'Pol's slim waist. Thankfully, she was the only Vulcan still at the reception. He wasn't ready to make explanations to the Vulcan delegation. One of T'Pol's hands alighted on Trip's shoulder. The Commander captured her other hand in his and tucked it close to his chest.

Their link was strong and though familiar with the music, even T'Pol was astonished at how natural the steps were. It was if she had done this many times before. It was the link. As they danced, she felt his questions and greeted then with what little she knew or had been able to surmise over the last week.

Trip was amazed at the information that passed between them, and how quickly he was able to assimilate it. Lifemates? Bonded? He knew that he should be running scared, but in fact he was awed at what he was learning about T'Pol, and what she felt about him. And she did feel. It was heady, to experience the emotions that someone felt about you. In sharing this information, T'Pol was sharing herself with him, intimately, and amazingly in a room crowded with people. Maybe it was the knowledge of this connection; this intimate awareness of another's emotions, which in all other aspects of Vulcan life were suppressed, that caused the Vulcan's to so carefully guard the specifics of these same intimate relationships.

And she shared her uncertainty, her vulnerability, as to whether he would feel compelled by the bond in the same way she did.

Maybe, biologically, he was not bonded in the same way that a Vulcan would be. There was no way for either of them to know this in the short term. But the very human emotions that flowed through him and then reflected back to him by T'Pol's thoughts, made him feel a connection to her that he had experienced with no other. With that thought, the music ended and they broke the connection and stood back from one another.

For a moment, the absence of the connection left a void in Trip. Like his heart was beating in T'Pol's chest and he had nothing left to sustain himself. After a moment of panic, T'Pol sensing Trip's distress, touched his face for a moment, soothing the parting.

As they both came back to themselves, they realized they were alone on the dance floor. The other dancers had encircled them and applauded gently for the couple that had danced so in tune with the other that none could tell where one partner began and the other ended.

Slightly nonplussed at the attention, Trip parted from T'Pol and said, "Oh and uh, Subcommander, I'll see you at the, uh, mission briefing tomorrow at 0800 in the Captain's ready room."

"Indeed, Commander,' replied T'Pol.

The commander turned unsteadily and exited the reception, leaving many pairs of questioning eyes boring holes into his back.

Malcolm turned to Hoshi. "I'd better tag along and make sure that Fred Astaire makes it back to his room in one piece, Hosh. I don't think that his feet have touched the ground yet." He squeezed her hand and smiled. "And as the Commander so romantically put it, see you at 0800 tomorrow." Reed turned and followed the commander out of the mess hall.

Hoshi contemplated Malcolm with a smile. At least his mother raised a gentleman. He leaves a party with the same partner that he brought to it. And she sighed.


	6. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Darkness embraced the figure in the remote chamber just as surely as the hooded ebony cloak that he wore. He sat at a table in this room deep in the heart of the subterranean mining operation on the former homeworld of the Jaxians. At first glance, he seemed to be reviewing reports on a PADD at a simple worktable in the corner.

The master's modest workspace and garb belied the success of his schemes and the scope of his control over those in his employ. Their efforts five planetary cycles ago had insured that currently there were no Jaxians alive to occupy the now unpopulated world.

The Andorian, Ritan edged closer. He was not sure whether it was his fear of the Master or something of the aura of this being that seemed to leech the cold from his slim blue frame. As the master turned toward him, he felt an involuntary shiver grip him. It was a relief that the hood was in place, saving the Andorian from that darkly beautiful and ruined face.

"Ritan?" The master's well-modulated, emotionless greeting only made his lieutenant feel more uneasy. "What of the intelligence from Aviaria?" Ritan shifted anxiously on his feet, hesitant to impart the bad news that they both knew was coming. Best to lead with the-not-as-bad news, he thought.

"Our agents not apprehended on Aviaria are currently working their way back to Jax to report."

Impatiently the master replied, "Yes, yes, some have already arrived. What of the Vulcans' plans to investigate?"

"As you already know, remaining operatives on the planet managed to assassinate the pilots of our ship they apprehended once custody was turned over to the Aviarian planetary government. We doubt that the Vulcans were able to gather any information. Planetary news reports are blaming Aviarian revenge killers. Since the Vulcans did not dispatch ships immediately to the planet, it is doubtful the captured pilots divulged any information."

The master's silky tones rumbled with a grim satisfaction. "Ah, yes. Our reputation for progressive, hmmmm rather, terminal discipline among the staff does often work to our advantage in terms of confidentiality."

"Yes, sir. Confidentiality has been the cornerstone of The Cartel's success."

"What of this Earth ship, The Enterprise? Reports say that she was heavily damaged in the attack."

"Heavily damaged, but now repairs have almost been completed. They are the heroes of the Aviarian homeworld, and no expense was spared to make the repairs for their defenders. Enterprise will be underway within 48 hours, and if intelligence is accurate, headed in our direction to check out the site of what they think might be a similar attackâ€”at the request of the Vulcans." Ritan allowed some smugness to creep into his voice. "The ship's top speed is Warp 5. Seems that they are the current pet project of the Vulcan High Command. This is the first human ship to achieve intergalactic space travel. The Vulcans have miscalculated in sending this ship to us. They will be no match."

The master rounded on his subordinate and slowly ground out, "If that is true, tell me why we are not preparing even as we speak to move operations to Aviaria?" His voice ended in a whisper but Ritan could hear him even as he took a cautious step back from the menace that radiated in waves from his leader.

"I only meant that with you here, master, they will unquestionably meet their demise at you hands." Ritan knew that the next seconds might decide his fate and every word must be well measured. He did not take a breath until the other continued.

"Tell me of the Captain of this ship, this Jonathan Archer."

Relieved that he was now on more firm footing, Ritan divulged what he knew. "Archer is the son of the man instrumental in developing the Warp 5 engine on Earth that they are now utilizing. Word is that he harbors a grudge with the Vulcans for delay of the launch of this engine. He has a reputation for breaking the rules, and has been in the last nine months since the ships launch, surprisingly adept into getting into trouble and finding a way out of it. Some of his people have called him a 'cowboy.' I am not sure whether this is used as a derogatory or complimentary term."

"I am familiar with the term and his planet, " the master countered dismissively. "What is this I hear that he has a Vulcan first officer?"

"According to intelligence reports, she is T'Pol. One of the Vulcans assigned to their diplomatic mission on Earth. She is currently serving as Enterprise's Science Officer. It seems that the Vulcans thought Archer needed a keeper. But she has proven to be an elusive quantity. I have heard from some of my people that they suspected that the Vulcans had a hidden surveillance post on P'Jem and were in violation of their treaty with Andoria. Archer and T'Pol exposed this and turned data over to the Andorians."

Ritan paused, hoping to see if his superior would enlighten him as to the odd behavior of this Vulcan on the Enterprise.

"Interesting. A Vulcan guided by human scruples? Probably not thought of very highly by the Vulcan High command. Of course, that is a recommendation in my judgment. This T'Polâ€”I would be very interested in getting to know her."

Ritan briefly felt pity for the unsuspecting woman.

"What else have you heard?"

"It is said that they have tangled with the Suliban...and were not destroyed."

The master had been pacing as the conversation progressed. At this revelation, he paused and turned toward Ritan. "It would seem that your earlier assessment might have underestimated them, Ritan. They must be both resourceful and lucky. An unfortunate combination for me, but certainly not insurmountable. Tell me of this engineer that the spies brought news of from the Aviaria."

"He and the Vulcan T'Pol led the team that distributed the antidote to the Aviarians. He was decorated by his people in a ceremony attended by both Aviarians and Vulcans. Allegedly, he came close to getting himself killed while repairing the Enterprise's weaponry so that it could destroy two of our three ships."

"A resourceful engineer, that could be especially annoying," contemplated the cloaked figure.

"And there was one odd note. Probably just hearsay..."

"Continue, Ritan." The annoyance at having to prompt his first in command laced his reply.

"Some Aviarians that attended an award ceremony for the Enterprise crew seemed to note that the Science Officer and Engineer appeared to be...close. The rumor, almost too impossible to believe, said that the two danced." Ritan awaited some response of disbelief from the dark figure opposite him. Instead, the reply took him off guard.

"Fascinating. Unusual crew. Interesting ship. This game should be entertaining. Though I doubt Enterprise will feel the same about me when we finally meet. I will have to ponder at length how they will repay their debt to me for the loss of my Aviarian investment." True to his word the cloaked figure resumed his seat, silently dismissing Ritan. No doubt he was already meditating on some intriguing and, Ritan surmised, unfortunate form of repayment for the Enterprise's crew.


	7. Men Are From Mars, T'Pol Is From Vulcan

0900

"Really Trip. With your track record for getting possessed by microbes, heat stroke and captured on away missions. Haven't you been shot twice now?"

Trip and Malcolm were walking down the hall that lead away from the Captain's ready room. The mission briefing had just finished. It had been quite obvious to Malcolm that his friend was not pleased to be staying aboard Enterprise while T'Pol, Hoshi, himself go down to Jax to investigate.

Trip stopped and turned his head toward the Lieutenant with exaggerated frustration. "I seem 'ta remember someone else getting' shot on Risa. Wasn't my ass that the Vulcans had to tractor beam off of a comet either. Try remembering, Lieutenant, that the number of times 'ya get your ass kicked is in direct proportion to how often you put it on the line."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Trip realized his mistake. Malcolm fixed him with cool glance.

"As armory officer I think it has more to do with the size of the target. Maybe some of us are just bigger asses than others?" Malcolm resumed walking down the hall.

Trip stood there for a moment and then jogged a few steps to catch up. "You enjoy getting the last word, don't 'ya?"

"Immensely."

"Well 'ya should. I was outta line back there, Malcolm." Trip favored the armory officer with a lopsided grin, "How 'bout ya' take ma' place on all the away missions. Then, by process of away mission elimination, I will become a Captain and retire at a ripe old age."

Malcolm tried to stifle a grin. He didn't want Tucker to think that he was completely off the hook. The Commander truly had a gift for deflecting aggravation with his sense of humor. To bad it couldn't shield him from phaser fire.

"Alright then, why are you so bloody hell bent to go on this away mission?" Malcolm thought he knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Trip did too.

"Maybe it's my opportunity to return from an away mission with my own clothes on or not having to visit sick bay? The planet's dead for cryin' out loud. What trouble could we get in down there, anyway?"

The look Malcolm gave Trip spoke volumes as to the believability of that statement."

"I'd get a chance to examine alien technology without anybody hollering at us?" Tucker's voice got a little softer and sounded more like he was asking Malcolm to help convince himself.

The needle on Malcolm's internal BS meter red-lined. "Would you like to take one more run at the real reason why you want to go down to that planet?"

The edge in Trip's voice was more from frustration with himself rather than his friend. "Would it be that I don't wanna let a certain Vulcan outta my sight?" Trip knew he had a poor away mission record, but T'Pol's wasn't much better. "Don't see 'ya complaining about the company you'll be keeping, 'specially after the calf eyes you were makin' in Hoshi's direction last night."

"I don't recall that I'm the one having trouble coming to terms with whom I'm attracted to."

"It'll take us two days to arrive at the planet that we're investigat'in. Maybe when the Captain sees how peaceful the planet is and how well I'm doin', he'll change his mind?"

Malcolm pointedly eyed the brace on the Commander's leg.

"You are still limping."

"Less every day."

"Didn't the doctor say that you would need the brace for a few weeks?"

Trip glared at Malcolm and crossly added, "I thought your rank was Lieutenant, not mother?"

Malcolm barked out a laugh and shook his head. "I'm not the one you need to convince, but I can tell you right now, your arguments are going to need to be quite a bit more compelling if you are going to change the captain's mind."

Trip hung his head in frustration as Malcolm took the turn to the armory. When will things, just anything, ever get easier?

The last twenty-four hours helped Trip realize that nothing EVER gets easier. What guy hasn't dreamed of being able to sense his girlfriend's thoughts? Girlfriend? Yikes, what would T'Pol say if he called her that?

Wouldn't it just be peachy if she had normal emotions or occasionally even had a single thought about him when he was around. Last night at the awards ceremony, he thought he had everythin' on a silver platter. Now, if possible, he was even less secure about what a relationship with T'Pol would involve.

And it didn't help that they never seemed to catch a moment alone. Right after the briefing, the Captain and senior officers met in the docking bay to escort the entire Aviarian entourage to their shuttle to make their farewells.

Saying good-bye to Rook was hard. The little fella wrapped both arms around the Commander's neck. The difficulty was that in order to say goodbye, you needed to be able to take in a breath.

Before Trip had a chance to react, Rook fairly launched himself into the Vulcan's arms. "Hey T'Pol, I'll miss you and the Commander somethin' fierce." Wiggling closer so that he could get near T'Pol's ear, Rook whispered, "I won't be around to look after Trip. Would you take care of him for me? He gets into a lot of trouble."

Fortunately for Malcolm, the Captain's chuckle drowned out his own laugh that he tried to camouflage with a cough. Out of the mouths of babes, he thought.

"The Enterprise crew and I will make the utmost effort to fulfill your role as the Commander's protector," T'Pol solemnly vowed with out a hint of amusement.

It just keeps gettin' better and better, Trip thought as he looked up at the ceiling plating as if for divine guidance. None was forthcoming.

The ship went underway within a half hour of the departure of the Aviarians and Vulcans. Trip was kept busy monitoring the equipment that had been repairedâ€”ever vigilant for fluctuations that might signal a need for adjustments. The Aviarians had helped with some upgrades that would ensure that the Enterprise's engines could maintain top speed for a longer interval than previously recorded.

Not that the Captain would call on the engines to reach top speed on a milk run to a planet that they would probably scan to pieces and then kick the dirt around for a while. What evidence could be left on a planet after ten years of an epidemic and what and who caused it?

T'Pol was busy conferring with the doctor about the environmental scans that they should run and what type medical records that they should try to download from any medical facilities they encounter. These duties put a welcome distance between herself and the Commander. She knew quite well that there was quite a bit they had to work out. And she could sense Trip's questions and even insecurities over their current circumstances. They would have to work out the answers together because there was no Vulcan philosophical text that would guide them through this situation.

Trip would probably not appreciate being referred to as a "situation". She would need to ponder more appropriate terminology before they next consulted. He probably would not appreciate a "consultation" either. Possibly some more time and a little more distance might make this somewhat easier. She wondered if what she was experiencing was what humans referred to as "procrastination." And to think that on Vulcan they referred to this same strategy as contemplation. She needed to think more on all of this.

At least she has some space. As a Vulcan, she did not necessarily feel relief, but her universe was a much more manageable place with the Vulcans off the ship. Odd that only a few months ago she craved the companionship of other Vulcans for the respite from being surrounded by these humans and their disorderly rationales.

Hoshi was busy researching the history of the Jaxians and getting a solid understanding from the Vulcan database of the Jaxian written language. They had two days and she wanted to make sure that she could direct them to the right areas for their research. Hoshi also wanted to make sure that the Universal Translator was programmed with as much Jaxian syntax as possible. They might run across recordings that might be invaluable in their search.

Malcolm reviewed the armament that they were taking down to Jax on what could be one of many visits across the planet. No one was expecting a confrontation, so the weapons that he chose were mostly hand phasers. He took some shock grenades that would quickly scatter any wild life they encountered on the planet.

If precognition had run in the Reed family, Malcolm would have nuked the planet from orbit and saved them all quite a bit of mayhem. Instead, he closed the small weapons locker and secured it in the shuttle.


	8. Ancestors

Hoshi sat at a table in the mess off to one corner by herself. The sweet- natured ensign rarely sat alone. But today, her thoughts clung to her like an invisible cloak that warded off any interlopers or interruptions. It didn't help that Hoshi had also unconsciously positioned herself with her back to the rest of the room.

Malcolm spied Hoshi as he carried his tray of resequenced protein away from the buffet. Her back did no look very inviting. Of course, this fortress could only be breached by an intrepid armory officer and Malcolm knew that he was the man for the job. Or at least that's the kind of talk you give yourself before you dive into a pond that could very well be ice cold, he mused. Better to just jump in and risk a heart seizure rather than dip your toe in and change your mind. Faint heart never won fair lady and all that rot. Malcolm balanced his dinner tray on his right arm and tapped her shoulder.

Hoshi stopped spinning the same forkful of spaghetti that she had been worrying for the last five minutes. When she looked up at Malcolm, he reflected that she resembled a pretty, but slightly unfocused owl blinking at him as her focus came back to the mess hall.

"If you continue spinning the spaghetti like that, you'll wring all of chef's marinara right out of it. Would you mind some company?"

Hoshi's eyes were dark and clouded over with some emotion Malcolm couldn't quite fathom. She blinked and looked up at him for a moment in confusion. Awareness seemed to dawn when he nodded gently in the direction of her hand on the mess table. Some spaghetti noodles were tightly wrapped in a mass around her fork. The pale mass looked to be setting up and seemed thoroughly cold and unappetizing. She looked up again and favored Malcolm with a halfhearted smile and gestured to the seat across from her.

"I guess Chef would not be too pleased if he saw what I've done with his noodles."

Malcolm sensed something wrong with Hoshi. He had seen her nervous, even frightened before an away mission. Tonight was somehow different. Tonight there was a melancholy spirit that seemed to hover about the diminutive ensign.

Reed meticulously unloaded the contents of the tray that he carried onto the table, allowing himself time to gather his thoughts. Mr. Tucker was the natural for inspiring, or rather provoking, confidences. Personal intimacies of this nature had never been Malcolm's forteâ€”never even dreamed of with his family. His time on Enterprise had stretched his abilities in this area. He found his interest in Ensign Sato had further provided inspiration to stretch his empathic skills.

"Indeed. It seems that your appetite tonight would not be a seen as a compliment by our temperamental cook. You seem preoccupied. Is something bothering you, Hoshi?"

She tried to smile to ease his concern. The Malcolm that had originally shipped out with them would have never been so forward to use her first name. As for asking her how she felt.

"I've been researching the spoken and written Jaxian dialects that we might encounter on the planet. I guess that I'm having a little trouble with the thought that there will be no one actually there to converse with." Malcolm noted that the forced lightness of Hoshi's tone was in stark contrast to the darkening in her eyes and furrows on her brow.

Malcolm's discomfort with this role of confidante caused him to study his plate as he gently suggested, "It's a dead planet Hoshi. There is nothing to be afraid of there." He finished with more confidence and met her eyes to gauge her reaction. Maybe even a little confidence leaked into his voice knowing he would be with her down on the planet to protect her.

"I'm not afraid of ghosts, lieutenant. It's not a dead planet that bothers me, it's that Jax is now a planet of the dead."

With Hoshi's words, Malcolm realized that the picture he had fostered in his mind was of a planet sans humanoid life forms. Suddenly, he pictured the images that her comments inspired. At the beginning, early victims on Jax would have been buried with mourning and reverence. Later as fear of contagion set in, mass burials or cremations would be likely. Finally, when social structures fragmented and finally collapsed, the sick would die wherever they lay. It was a grim vision that chilled even a jaded armory officer. He reached across the table and covered her hand in his.

"Ten years gives nature time to soften edges on a tragedy like this, Hoshi. Our imaginations are probably far worse right now than what the reality will reveal tomorrow."

Hoshi sighed softly. Only slightly frustrated, she understood the conclusions that Malcolm had drawn. Question was, how did she explain the deep sadness that had preoccupied her? Could she help someone from such a different cultural experience understand how the events on the planet they were approaching so deeply affected her? All she knew was that it was important to make this man understand. It mattered. More deeply, in fact, than she cared to suppose right now.

Very gently, Hoshi contradicted the lieutenant. "No Malcolm, it's not that. Tell me, are you familiar with Japanese traditions regarding death and the afterlife?" Hoshi could tell from the fleeting emotions of concern and surprise that chased there way across the normally taciturn officer's face, that her question had taken Malcolm off guard.

Under any circumstances, Lt. Reed was not a man that was comfortable being lead into a situation that he had not personally anticipated or reconnoitered. Hesitantly, as if opening a door to a room that he was certain held a tiger rather than the lady, he answered, "I know that the Japanese hold their ancestors in deep reverence. Other than that, not much."

Preoccupied in getting his answer right, Malcolm did not note, until he felt a gentle squeeze, that Hoshi's hand had slipped out from under his grasp. It now gently rested on top of his.

"You're right and yet it's so much more." Hoshi's eyes turned inward as she pictured her home in Kyoto, where she grew up with her parents. "In an alcove in our home there is a small wooden cabinet. You might refer to it as an altar. We call it a 'butsudan.' Every day, without fail, my mother lights the 'senko' or incense that she places in a polished brass bowl filled with sparkling white sand. She also makes a food offering. And she says a prayer. Roughly translated 'For aid received, by day and by night, accept, August Ones, our reverential gratitude.' You see, we believe that they are ever with us, guiding us, inspiring and supporting each member of the family."

"In our botsudan, there are five tablets with the names of my grandparents and my uncle that have died. Also, there is a scroll that lists the names of all our honored ancestors. In bring the dead into our home; we keep them a part of our life and love. It is hard to explain, but to forget or ignore them would be considered an unpardonable cruelty. Everything about the situation on Jax just seems so much more.unforgivably pitiless for robbing the entire planet of any descendants that could keep those that have gone before in their hearts."

Given the new perspective, Malcolm was beginning to grasp that the enormity of the crime perpetrated on Jax. In Hoshi's eyes, it went far beyond the murder of the inhabitants. With the complete loss of life, they had also lost the remembrance and the comfort of being surrounded and a part of the joyful noise of their living families.

Malcolm could see that Hoshi's eyes were overly bright with unshed tears. He felt his own chest tighten as he struggled to say something that would somehow ease her sadness.

"Hoshi. There is no giving back what has been lost on Jax. But when we go down to the planet and collect a record of what happened there, we will give them remembrance. Don't doubt that each of us that go down to the planet will take back some part of these people that will stay with us always. You have the unique ability to seek out, interpret and share the literature, art and song of the Jaxians. Hoshi, sweetheart, that is something, isn't it?"

Whether it was the uncharacteristic endearment, Malcolm's concern or the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead that she guessed were the result of his efforts to negotiate his way through an emotional minefield, Hoshi finally let loose with a genuine smile.

"I'll do what I can to make it something, Mr. Reed."

With that, Malcolm rose from the table and simply offered, "May I escort you to your quarters, ensign?"

"Why, yes indeed, Lieutenant." They left their island table, waded through the ocean of crew in the mess. Understanding, consolation and another tentative step in building a lasting relationship was taken. No one around them was any the wiser, engrossed as each was, in Chef's delightful marinara sauce and there own micro-universe consisting of a table and a couple of chairs.


	9. Partings

> Parting is all we know of heaven,  
> And all we need of hell.
> 
> â€”Emily Dickinson
> 
> The day breaks not: it is my heart,  
> Because that you and I must part.
> 
> â€”Anonymous from John Dowland, _A Pilgrim's Progress_  
> 

Commander Tucker hunched over the shuttle pod console. He seemed to be reviewing the Padd that detailed the results of the engineering preflight checklist like St. Peter perusing a list of sins and virtues of a soul intent on heaven. If anyone in the shuttle bay wondered why the Chief Engineer was doing a routine preflight check at 0500, they kept their thoughts to themselves. Or, quite possibly, not many of them had to wonder. The Chief had not been too circumspect about communicating his eagerness for the mission or his disappointment for being grounded.

Trip checked the list for a third time. He'd racked his brain to come up with a compelling reason why the away team would need an engineer. While he was willing to accept the logic of the Captain's decision, logic was not sufficient to put a muzzle on the little voice in his head that said something was not right. When the engines were acting up, he could feel the odd vibrations from the floor panels and up through the balls of his feet. This feeling was more like a lead ball of dread lodged firmly in his chest. Maybe his sense of foreboding was just a projection of his own unfortunate away mission experiences. Malcolm had implied as much last night. Somehow it feeling seemed so much more substantial than just reliving a bad experience or two

Travis, assigned the role of pilot for the mission, approached the Commander with a loose-limbed gate that seemed to eat up the space between them. The Chief Engineer was not sure he wanted to give the thumbs up on the shuttle, but could not, for all the Andorian ale on Risa, come up with a likely sounding reason. Trip could tell that his sense of unease had telegraphed itself to the young pilot as he watched Travis's smile dissolve into a look of concern.

"Hey, Commander. Is there something wrong with the pre-flight? You look like someone stole you last mono-phasic capacitor."

Trip favored the pilot with a half-hearted smile. "No ensign, not since you borrowed one to soup up the audio system in your quarters. The capacitors are all accounted for, mono and multi-phasic."

Trip glanced back at the shuttlecraft. "She's ship-shape and ready to fly." Trip grimaced slightly at the note of levity that rang falsely to him. The ensign didn't seem to notice as he moved to give the shuttle a once-over. A couple of bad experiences had not damped Mayweather's excitement at exploring a new planet.

Junior officers always seem to have a knack for ignoring the unpleasant, if adventure was in the offing. Tucker recognized this recklessness in himself. Until now he had not noticed that time had begun to instill a sense of caution. The Captain might be surprised to hear Trip admit it. In fact, the Captain probably thought that Trip's desire to go on the away mission was nothing more than a result of Trip and T'Pol's budding relationship.

As Mayweather conducted his own preflight check, Malcolm approached. The armory officer's hands were grasping two metal trunks. Breaking into a genuine grin this time, Trip thought, God bless Malcolm. Even if the armory officer was informed that only microbes existed on a planet, he'd still feel it necessary to go on an away mission "loaded for bear."

Always slightly suspicious of Chief Engineers bearing wide grins, Lieutenant Reed asked warily, tilting his head toward the craft, "She checks out, Commander?"

"Not sure, Lieutenant. If you are planning on installing a phase cannon on the shuttle, I might have to do some rewiring."

Malcolm confusion lasted only a moment before he aimed half-annoyed, half-amused look back at the Commander.

"You were thinking that the well-dressed Armory officer should accessorize with black leather rather than titanium weapon's cases?"

"Naw, Lieutenant. Actually I heartily approve of your fashion statement. Besides, black leather would clash with your blue jumpsuit." Trip crossed his arms and seemed to shake his head grimly. "The haberdashers on Bond Street would be appalled at such as suggestion."

Malcolm's eyes glanced heavenward for strength. Silently, though, he was pleased that the Engineer seemed to come out of his sulk.

"T'Pol and Hoshi are making a final review of the linguistics and cultural databases that we received on the Jaxians from our Vulcan friends. We'll be ready to leave within the hour."

"Actually, Lieutenant we are ready right now." T'Pol serenely glided in, carrying a simple black cloth utility bag over one shoulder. Hoshi, slightly breathless, looked like she would have enjoyed the luxury of the rest of the hour to complete her preparations. She tucked an errant stand of hair behind her ear as she fumbled with her other hand to get the Padd she was holding into a similar bag she gripped awkwardly. Trip could see that Malcolm looked ready to make a diving catch if the contents of her bag followed through with its promise to spill all over the shuttle bay floor.

Hoshi looked over at Malcolm and favored him with a harried smile as she righted the bag and secured the flap. Her amusement increased as she noted his stance relax ever so slightly.

Trip's amusement, however, vanished upon T'Pol's entrance to the shuttle bay. As if in answer to his unasked question, T'Pol informed him, "We'll be gone most of the day. The Captain requested that we check in every two hours. Our return is scheduled promptly at 1900 hours."

As T'Pol stepped up into the waiting shuttle, Trip placed an unnecessary hand under her arm to help her go aboard.

Trip was choking on everything that he wanted to say to herâ€”longing, love and concern. His arm moved to rest on her shoulder. The only two words to get past the lump in his throat were, "Take care."

She looked back at him for one intense moment and Trip could swear that her warm brown eyes darkened and deepened as she studied his faceâ€”and thoughts.

Her simple answer: "Indeed."

Forty-five minutes later, Travis radioed the bridge that they had arrived safe and sound.

Two hours later, they checked in to inform the Enterprise that they were exploring one of the buildings that appeared to be a government center.

Precisely one and one half hours after that, a breathless Lieutenant Reed hailed the ship. His statement was as simple as it was chilling, "Captain, Sub-commander T'Pol has disappeared."


	10. Abducted!

The shuttle pod managed to descend into the planet's atmosphere with little trouble. If a Vulcan could be credulous, T'Pol was often baffled at the versatility and stamina of the stocky little crafts. In fact, the pods did not look so far removed in design from the "flying bricks," also called shuttles, that populated earths early 21st century space program. Ensign Mayweather was a competent pilot, yet the Vulcan, used to more fleet and graceful Vulcan craft, always seemed to unconsciously calculate the likelihood of safe landing.

The other two members of the away team seemed unconcerned as the conversed quietly in the aft seating area. None of the members of the away team seemed to have the almost giddy anticipation that marked most away missions for this crew. T'Pol mused that some of the crew's past experiences might have sobered their opinions on adventure. No, T'Pol concluded, more likely, the somber mood was due to the officers' awareness of the fate of planet's inhabitants.

Mayweather negotiated a simple landing, skimming close to the treetops, as he dropped down into a clearing that surely had once been a recreation area near the former capital's center.

After studying information from the Vulcan database about the Jax home world, the captain and T'Pol had decided on attempting to check a government location first, as stored data on what happened would likely be concentrated in such a place.

As they approached, what had seemed intact given the myopia of distance, took on the look of buildings long abandoned. Walkways they crossed, made of an odd gray-green, slightly bouncy substance, showed sun bleaching and a web work of hairline cracks in the surface. Manicured grounds, once tamed by an army of caretakers, had long now gone to seed. An infant forest springing up in its wake.

The environment seemed much more sanitized than what the away team expected after a global epidemic event.

Hoshi gave voice to the surprise of three out of four members of the group. "I thought there'd be bodies or skeletons." Her voice trailed off. Quietly, almost to herself, she added, ".or something."

Malcolm shot a glance of concern over at Hoshi, but seemed satisfied that she was dealing with the situation.

"Many species are known to retreat to dark, quiet places to expire. As the disease progressed and societal systems started to fail, it is likely that the remaining survivors on the planet turned to familiar surroundings to await the inevitable. " As if aware that her clinical response might not be a comfort to the more sensitive younger members of the party, T'Pol added, "It is not likely that we will need to investigate the residential areas of the city."

Travis seemed relieved. "Thank God for small favors" he murmured to himself. Hoshi, either overhearing the quiet comment or sensing his general relief, beamed at the young pilot. Misery, indeed, loves company.

As they approached one of the buildings that seemed to be at the center of a large complex, T'Pol decided that they we should split into two teams. Hoshi and Malcolm investigate a communication's center near the ground floor. Travis, she decided, would join her and seek out a command center or senior management area that might have housed classified information.

T'Pol and Travis found what they were looking for on one of the highest floors of the building. The secure area was wisely located in the center of a floor away from the external shell of the building. The security system, of a rather primitive keypad style, was easily overridden by T'Pol. As they entered the complex rooms, something odd about their appearance set off warning bells in T'Pol's mind. Thinking of such an irrational mental warning system as bells in her head make T'Pol briefly think of Trip. At the thought of him, the formal lines of her mouth relaxed slightly. She reached out to him for a moment with her mind, hoping even at this distance, he could sense her well-being.

"Ensign, analyze the control console in this room. I would like to establish an interface and see if you can begin downloading data. If our technology is not compatible, call me. I've scanned this floor and detected in a power source located down the hallway. When you are finished here, meet me at that location. I may the need of your assistance.

"Aye, aye, Subcommander. It is unusual to think that something is still power up and working after all this time."

"Which is precisely why I intend to investigate. If you are curious, I suggest that you proceed with your assignment in all due haste." Travis smiled. From another officer, he might have felt the chastised. From T'Pol, in her way, it almost sounded like encouragement.

* * *

T'Pol proceeded down the dark corridor. Her head down, she gazed intently at the tricorder. Without a doubt, there were power readings coming from the room at the end of the hall. As she stepped into the room, a computer screen glowed eerily in the abandoned office.

And then she realized what had been bothering her since they stepped foot on this floor. Unlike the levels below, these offices looked pristine. Where was the ten years of undisturbed dust? How could someone reach this level without leaving some evidence of his passing on one of the floors below?

T'Pol had barely completed this thought, when she felt an arm grab her in a chokehold. She immediately attempted to use her body as a fulcrum to grab her larger opponent and tip him over her shoulder. Her arm had barely reached up to his neck when she felt a sharp pinch on her neck just above her collarbone. Then everything went black.


	11. Cinema Prophecy

"Captain, Sub-commander T'Pol has disappeared."

Shocked silence was the only answer to the announcementâ€”for the span of about three heartbeats. Before Archer had a chance to utter a single question or command, Trip addressed the ensign that sat at Hoshi's duty station.

"Ensign Calder, hail the Sub-commanderâ€”NOW!" Radiating urgency, only someone who knew the commander was well as Jon did, would hear the background note of panic that resonated in that final word.

Calder's fingers fumbled over the control panel where Hoshi's would normally fly with beloved familiarity. He was on loan from security. Calder had strategic communications trainingâ€”but it was painfully obvious that this was his first time negotiating the intricacies of a starship communications system during a time of non-simulated crisis.

"Aye, sir, I've already tried our normal channels. I've begun scanning emergency frequencies as well."

"Trip." Archer started. Before he could continue his request, the engineer had already fulfilled it. With amazing speed, he had crossed to T'Pol's science station, and without sitting, had already begun to run scans of the planet.

To no one in particular, but at least for the benefit of the rest of the bridge crew, John continued with the command that was already being executed. "Scan the planet and see if you can isolate the locations of all of our people."

"Captain, I have three life signs clustered on the 15th level of the building. I'm spread'n the search to surrounding buildings. into the cityâ€”I can't find anything."

Archer could feel his teeth grinding. This was supposed to be a milk run, he thought. For once he didn't complain that they seemed to get the "safe" mission. His crew had needed a break. What they got was a bad one. Part of him wanted to cling to the possibility of a simple explanation. "Trip, are you running across any shielded areas in the building? Maybe T'Pol just can't get through."

"Negative, Captain."

Archer leaned forward in his seat. "Calder, get me the Lieutenant."

Reeds clipped tones filled the bridge. "Reed here, Captain."

"Any news Malcolm?"

"No sir. We are doing a floor-by-floor search. We're at level ten, working our way down. It is slow going, Captain. With only three of us, I decided to take the precaution of staying together." Unsaid was that he had two junior officers with him, neither of which had more than rudimentary security training. Every word spoke volumes to Jon. Get me a bloody battalion down here and I'll take this building apartâ€”came through loud and clear.

"Agreed. We're sending an away team down to complete the search. Hold your position."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he heard exactly what he expected the moment the phrase "away team" left his mouth.

"Captain, I'd like to lead that team." Every word Trip spoke was as perfectly enunciatedâ€”Lt. Reed couldn't have said it more clearly.

Archer closed his eyes for a moment as if the temporary peace would give him some insight into his options. This was not a conversation that he wanted to have on the bridge. His alternatives were already limited and John knew that Trip intended to use that argument in his favor.

"Senior officers to the ready room." With T'Pol and the lieutenant on the planet, that left only Trip and Phlox. Turning back to Calder he motioned him to hail the away team. "Malcolm, I want you to keep this frequency open and hail us ever five minutes until the team gets down there."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

* * *

The first impression to filter into T'Pol's consciousness was that she was lying on her side on top of cot. The second was that her hands were secured behind her and anchored to something that prevented her from turning over or trying to sit up. Looking around the room through veiled lashes, she concluded that she was in a small subterranean cavern. Before she was able to assess the entire room, she heard a chair scrape the ground. The noise came from her right. In order to see who was approaching, she would need to lift her head, which she decided was not prudent. There was no sense alerting her kidnapper that she was awake until she it was absolutely necessary. It would have been a good strategyâ€”if it had worked.

"Ahhh, my little Vulcan friend, playing 'possum as your human shipmates would say?"

T'Pol did not understand the reference to a nocturnal, arboreal marsupial from earth but she assumed that he was aware that she was awake. She saw no sense in replying to his question so she remained silent and watched him as he approached the cot.

T'Pol's first impression was that the man approaching her was largeâ€”physically built like Captain Archer but possibly taller by a few centimeters. His musculature was hard to make out as he wore a loose black hooded cloak that effectively hid most of his face and upper torso. All that she could see in the dim light was the line of his jaw that looked as hard and implacable as the stone surrounding her. He moved quite silently for a large humanoid.

"I see that you've given up the strategy of feigning unconsciousness." For the first time, T'Pol realized that his voice had an unusual tone. His sibilant consonants seemed to extend longer than needed, giving his voice a rasping sound that she contemplated might sound rather sinister if one was susceptible to such notions.

He seemed to be unconcerned with the fact that she refused to respond to his communications. Instead he approached her. Reflexively, she tried to shift back as he closed the distance between them, his black cloak consuming her entire visual of field. Soon she felt a tug on her bound wrists. Though he did not release her hands, it seemed that he did undo the tether. Sliding a hand under the shoulder resting on the cot, he seemed to effortlessly lift her to a sitting position. She placed her feet on the floor. Standing as close as he was, T'Pol had to tilt her head quite far back to look at him.

"Now I imagine that you have a few questions." He pulled a chair from the table and placed it opposite her, so close that their knees almost touched. The candle light from the table to their right did nothing to illuminate her kidnapper's features. "Where would you like to start?"

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Oh, T'Pol, or would you rather I call you Subcommander?" His question was greeted with an unflinching stare and complete silence. "No matter. I prefer T'Pol, so T'Pol it is. Well, T'Pol it truly is a long story, but most of it you already know. Suffice it to say that you and your ship have cost my operation quite a good deal of time and capital with your interference on Aviaria. As any good businessman would, I plan on recouping at least some of my expenses."

"Enterprise will not pay a ransom for me."

"Indeed. I have no intention of requesting monetary compensation. In fact, I have no plans to return you to your ship. Actually, it is my fondest wish that your entire crew join us here on the planet. We are always having staffing problems with this operation. I've decided that Enterprise's crew is just the ticket for my latest recruiting drive."

"Captain Archer would never allow the entire crew to come to this planet for any reason."

"Yes, that would be very poor strategy on his part. But you'll have to have faith that I have tried and true strategies on my side as well. Why the whole concept came to me while watching early 21st century earth cinema. Have you ever seen a movie called Gunga Din? The Wiseman was a genius strategist. However did he put it? Yes, now I remember."

"Two come to follow one. Then the others follow."


End file.
